Bioelectrical Impulses
by Timballisto
Summary: All Tris wanted to do was finish her Lightsbridge thesis, but instead she somehow ended up in a mess of Briar proportions. Rated T for adult situations. Oneshot for now.


The candle flickered as the wax slowly dripped onto the wooden table. It snapped and sputtered as mist from the open window blew gently across the wick, the moisture popping as the faint candle slowly died.

The candle went out with a plume of acrid smoke.

"What- oh." A pale hand reached out to the candle, smothering the struggling ember with a finger as she peeled her face off of her writing desk. Copper curls, damp with night sweat, stuck to her face as she readjusted her glasses, grey eyes glinting in the half light of the dawn.

She yawned. In the distance, the clock struck twice- 2:00 in the morning. That was late even for the likes of Trisana Chandler.

Blearily, she stumbled over to her dresser, shedding her gown before groping for her nightwear. Shurri, she was tired. What had she been working on again?

She blinked, squinting as she tried to remember…

Tris's eyes caught the edge of a vermillion book bound in luxurious leather; her Lightsbridge textbook. A pile of messy parchment sheets an inch thick. Oh… her application essay.

For those without personal funds, the only way to get into Lightsbridge on your own merit was to impress the Board of the Lightsbridge School of Academic and Ambient Magics with your application essays. She'd get into that school without money or connections- it was a pride thing, she supposed. For all that she hated to be stigmatized she would freely admit she hated being in someone's debt; it was the merchant in her.

Tris wandered over to her desk, absently pulling her arm through the sleeve of her nightgown as she peered at her delusional, sleep-deprived scrawls from sometime the night before. Something about… Tris blinked, peering at her handwriting. It started out as an intelligent explanation of her theory of bio-electrical impulses but slowly descended into what looked like an excerpt of one of Briar's journals on the effects of organic hallucinogens.

…_the body itself is propelled by small pulses of electricity travelling from the brain to the rest of the body. The speed at which lightning can travel is used in miniature in this case- a hand movement can be near instantaneous… _

She could see where her pen had trailed off, a blot of ink smearing from where her hand had smudged it against the parchment. This was, obviously, where her sanity had left her.

_SURprisE!_

_I was being facetious. People tell me I should be more approachable. I'm not approachable? The elephant in the room isn't my social awkwardness and unwillingness to get along with unintelligent people- there's literally an elephant in the room! It make's people uncomfortable unless I'm there to vocally assure them that there is nothing to fear and that the elephant is a vegetarian._

_Should I give up meat? _

_Should I be a better person?_

_Anyway, I was walking around the other day, Chime was bothering some people and eating potentially dangerous chemicals, and I saw this man._

_Was it a man?_

_This maybe-man was very attractive. Very,v-v-very (I like the word very) symmetrically refined. Probably. I'm still a little fuzzy right now. So, with some aggressive mental coaching from my meddling foster sisters I go up to him and-__?_

She frowned, her brows furrowing. How tired had she been last night? Or... she sniffed the parchment and made a face when she smelled the faint scent of wine. She hadn't drank since her ill-fated experiment with her siblings before they had left on their prospective trips with their teachers- apparently her braids made a significant contribution to her control over her power, even when she had been, apparently, wasted enough to not remember the night.

"Mmph." Tris froze, looking over her shoulder at her bed, where the sound had originated. She could make out a lump beneath her covers, something that she assumed had been merely a bunch in the linens.

Oh. Oh _no._

A tuft of black hair poked up from beneath her comforters, revealing the pale contours of an ear and the start of a jaw before the owner shifted again and the blanket fell back over her guests head, along with the gentle rasp of male breathing.

She was way over her head here- and she needed help, fast. Now, who did she know with extensive experience in the area of dumping one-nights stands?

_Briar!_


End file.
